Before They Were Agents: New York
by Nikolaos
Summary: "He made a different call." Why did Clint not kill Natasha? Maybe they'd met before, maybe more than once. This is the time they met in New York. This time, Clint came with a warning. The Black Widow is moving up SHIELD's priority list and Clint isn't happy about it. He knows that if she gets any higher she'll be assigned a kill order. One that he'll most likely have to carry out.


**AN: **This is another part of my "**Before They Were Agents**" series. There is no order to the series, these are just random one shots detailing all the times that Clint and Natasha met before they both worked for SHIELD.

**"He Made A Different Call"**

**-A-**

Clint sat in one of the many shared computer labs on the base. It was a place for those agents and techs that didn't have their own office to check their emails, write reports and generally just check out stupid cat videos on YouTube, or so Clint had been told.

With his feet up on the next desk over, Clint threw skittles up into the air and caught them in his mouth while he scrolled through the ridiculous amount of generic emails that got sent out to everybody on base. Who really gave a shit about toilet rolls going missing from the first floor bathroom?

Clicking delete, he waited for the next email to load. Nearly choking on the last skittle he had in his mouth when the picture of an old friend came up on screen, the bold letters at the top notifying all agents of the updated information they had on the Black Widow.

The Russian assassin was creeping up the most wanted list, and now they had a photograph of her that was of her full profile and not blurry. Plus they had a last known location of her here in the states.

Clicking print before he logged off his email he got up and marched out the lab, dropping the rest of the skittles in the trash he grabbed the picture from the printer while pulling his cell out of his back pocket and dialing a number from memory.

An automated voice asked for his PIN number, which he punched in as he pushed his way through the crowd of agents that was in his way.

The Automated voice asked for his message.

"We need to meet. I know you're in New York, call me back."

He hung up while he entered his quarters. Changing out of his uniform he pulled on a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt that would help him blend into a populated area better because he knew, that would be where Natasha would pick for their meet. He replaced his thigh holster for the one that would let him carry his H&K P30 securely at the base of his back, while also keeping it concealed. Grabbing his jacket and keys to his bike; he marched out of the room and towards the garage.

People were now jumping out of his way as he marched through the corridors. His cell beeped with a new message.

**"2HRS. CONEY ISLAND PIER"**

Clint huffed at the response before turning his cell off and placing it in his jacket pocket. Putting on his helmet he swung his legs over the bike, gunned the engine and sped off.

-A-

Two hours wasn't a lot of time to get from the base to Coney Island, but he managed it with twenty minutes to spare. Taking the time he needed he checked the perimeter he then bought himself some tacos.

Leaning on the wooden railing, he slowly munched on the cheesy goodness while he watched the idiots doing back-flips off the end of the pier and into the water below. Some, he gave credit too. They had some style, others were just lucky that they didn't break their necks.

"I'd give him a seven for style," said a soft voice next to Clint.

Clint didn't jump; he'd known that Natasha had been watching him for the last two minutes, so he just offered her the plastic tray of tacos. Natasha leaned forward and took one of the jalapenos off the top and popped it in her mouth.

"I dunno, the jumper before was better," Clint replied.

"That boy did not point his toes."

"They're jumping off a fucking pier not the balance beam in the Olympics," huffed Clint.

Natasha looked up at Clint for the first time, "What is wrong?"

Clint sighed, in all the years that he had known the Russian she always seemed to know what he was thinking. He could hide what he was thinking and feeling from anyone else, including Coulson. Yet he couldn't fool her. Not bothering to ask how she knew, because he knew that she would never tell. it was a game to her, instead he pulled out the photo of her from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

"That got emailed to every agent, tech and god damn janitor in SHIELD today."

"SHIELD sends its kill lists to it's janitors?"

"Nat this is serious," growled Clint.

She scowled at the use of the nickname but after more than a decade of knowing the archer she had come to realise that no amount of threats would stop him from doing what he wanted. So she conceded to the name.

"You're moving up the priority list."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Looking down at Nat, he arched an eyebrow up at her question. An entire intelligence agency had her in their sights and she didn't see the problem. And people called him crazy.

"Oh please," scoffed Natasha. "This is nothing."

"Nat, they have your picture now, a decent one at that. Plus a proper description."

"Barton, I will be fine. I am always fine," she shrugged.

"You know, you could always join our side," smirked Clint.

"Are you trying to bring me in?" mocked Natasha.

Clint laughed, "Nat, the only way I see you being brought in is with you walking through the front door. With the key in your hand like you own the place."

Natasha smiled but remained silent. She'd come into contact with many SHIELD agents over the years but in the last four years since Barton had joined their ranks she hadn't killed any of them. She knew Barton was one of their top agents, their best sniper for sure. Which meant that she also knew that if SHIELD decided to take her out, they'd choose a long distance head shot. Which meant Barton.

Not that she would ever tell him, but she didn't want to put Barton in that position. Neither one of them had what normal people would call friends. They had assets, contacts, colleagues, even sometimes an associate. What she and Barton had was trust.

It had taken years to develop. Lots of stitches and an understanding that neither one of them were ever going to change. Therefore she knew that SHIELD had given him a lot, given him something to be proud of. In their line of work that was a rare feeling. She didn't want to ruin that for him. So out of respect to him, and only him she was kinder to those from SHIELD. Broken bones and unconsciousness only. It also provided a nice challenge.

"So, did you pull that job in Barcelona last month?" asked Barton changing the subject. He'd warned her, it was her choice what she decided to do with that warning. Knowing her, she'd continue with her life like this conversation never happened.

Natasha arched an eyebrow up in question.

"The diplomat that was supposedly sponsoring kids so they could get a better life but was actually using them as mules for his underground drug business."

Natasha smirked, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Course you don't," chuckled Clint. "It was nice work though."

"You took down that Iranian that was smuggling the girls into the US," said Natasha.

"Did I now?" smirked Clint, using the same tone that Natasha had.

"It was good work, you took down all the key players in both Iran and America. All but one."

"What?"

"You missed one, here in New York."

"No way, our intel. was good," said Clint in denial.

"You missed Harold Rayner's son."

"Rayner didn't have a son. He had three daughters, all of whom live in Chicago which he hadn't seen in more than a decade," rebuked Clint.

"He sleeps with _his girls," _growled Natasha. "One ended up having a son, he killed the girl then raised the boy with a series of nannies and boarding schools. Then he brought him into the _family _business."

"How do you know all this?" asked Clint in amazement.

"I have better sources than SHIELD," shrugged Natasha.

"Obviously," huffed Clint. "So what's his name?"

"I'm not going to tell you that, this one is mine."

"What? No way, I started this, I want to finish it."

"You had your chance, now it is my turn."

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?" smirked Clint.

"I'll tell you when I'm finished," Natasha smiled. "It was good to see you again, Barton."

"You too, Nat. Stay out of sight, just for a little bit, okay?"

Natasha nodded, before she walked away and merged back into the crowd. Clint didn't watch her go, or try to follow her. He just let her disappear. They'd see each other again; he had no doubt about that.

-A-

Clint knocked on Fury's door waiting for the curt "enter" from inside before he opened the door.

Coulson was there standing by the wall, Fury sat behind his desk, a cardboard box in the center of the desk.

"You called?" asked Clint.

"Take a look," ordered Fury, indicating the box.

Curious, Barton stepped forward and looked in the box. "Someone's lost their head."

"Barton," warned Coulson.

"What? I don't know him," shrugged Clint.

"Didn't think you would."

"Who is he then?"

"Joseph Brennus, bastard child of Harold Raynor," said Fury.

Clint didn't comment. This was not what he expected when Natasha said that she would let him know when she had finished.

"Didn't think Raynor had a son," commented Clint, trying to cover his not quite surprised reaction.

"According to the Black Widow, we missed one." Fury threw an A4 plastic wallet at Barton who caught it effortless.

"What's this?"

"Her evidence, turns out she was right."

Clint looked down at the file, not quite hiding a smile. "I guess we know it's definitely her who sent it then." She'd signed the photograph that he had handed her.

"I want to know how she got a hold of this picture," growled Fury. "If we have a leak, I want it found."

"Well don't look at me, I can barely work my email," huffed Clint, or that's what he let people believe. He was proficient enough to cover his tracks. No one was finding out that he was the one who gave Natasha this picture. Of course, he wouldn't call himself 'a leak'. He'd never given her any classified information in the past and he wouldn't in the future.

"We are all perfectly aware of that, by the fact that you never reply to anything you're sent," snapped Fury.

Barton shrugged. "So why am I here?"

"When we find her, you're being sent after her."

"To do what?"

"To do what you do best," said Fury like it was obvious.

"Didn't she just do us a favour?" asked Clint in confusion.

"Barton, we can't have someone out there pointing out our mistakes," said Coulson.

"So we're gonna kill her?"

"No, you're going to kill her because she's an assassin and causes more trouble than she's worth. Do you have a problem with that?"

Clint stood up straighter, taking one last look at the photograph in his hand before looking up at Fury with nothing but steel in his eyes. "No sir."

-A-


End file.
